


Love Me None

by orphan_account



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Blood, Depressing, Drinking, Drinking While Driving, Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Murder-Suicide, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ryan does something he regrets.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I feel weird for writing this bc these are real people and this was supposed to be a spideypool fic but wade didn't fit the role. I just...   
> I know this isn't real. It's fictional. I don't mean to cast anyone in a bad light or anything. I doubt Ryan Reynolds would go out and kill someone but for the sake of this fic he does///
> 
> It's a fanfic. that's it. 
> 
> This stems from the opening scene from Lolita, Frank Ocean's "Swim Good," and "Novacane," and my own sick desire to see Ryan Reynolds in more murder-y roles. 
> 
> If you like this, I have an idea for a bigger fic centered around it. But I won't waste my time if like 5 people see this...soo...   
> test run. yeah. 
> 
> please don't hate me im just a trash bin trying to survive a world of recycling.

Blood has dried to his hands and in spatters on his forehead. The road won’t stop moving. It curves and spins and the line won’t stay straight. Ryan can’t tell if it’s because he’s on a 2 week drunk or if it’s because he’s exhausted. 

Vodka swishes in its bottle huddled in the floor board. His pistol is in the backseat, nestled almost sweetly in a Cuban cigar box. 

Guilt gnaws at him. It threatens to use his ribs like a ladder to crawl out of his throat. To sink its talons into his tongue and make him scream to the world what he’d done and why. 

He’d never been able to take rejection well. The word ‘no’ never sat well with him. To see Andrew, Andrew of all people, huddled up in someone else’s bed, his lips curled around that ugly two letter word…

It made him upset, to say the least. 

He shouldn’t have done it. He still couldn’t believe, over 24 hours later, he’d had it in him to do something so despicable. 

And Andrew hadn’t done anything except leave him. He had every right to. Ryan hadn’t exactly been prime boyfriend material. 

Fuck, they weren’t even dating. What did he call them? Especially now. How does one label oneself when their beloved is a corpse? 

The event passed in a dream. Through a haze of booze and sleeping pills and one of the shirts Andrew had left behind, he’d followed him. The man of the house, whose name Ryan didn’t remember, had tried so hard to keep him out. 

But a man riddled with bullets can only shield so much. He’d collapsed right in front of Andrew’s bedroom door, death grip on the now bloody doorknob. He stepped over the corpse. His obstacle had been eliminated. Andrew sat up in bed, head tilted to one side.

“You’re crazy,” He wheezed out, “You’ve gone absolutely bat shit crazy.” 

“Will you come back with me?” He’d asked. He was all out of tears. He’d wasted them all on the trip over. It didn’t stop the loud sob that wracked through him, though.   
Andrew’s lips quirked upward, brown eyes glistening. He should be afraid in the face of a gun. He shouldn’t be smiling like he felt sorry for Ryan. The same smile he’d given when he stood at the backdoor, bags in his hands, ready to walk out of Ryan’s life for good. 

“Baby,” His voice was cool and controlled, “We both know I can’t.” 

He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His hair was a mess, sticking out at odd angles from where he’d just woken up. He hadn’t shaved in about a week, the beginning of a pastor’s beard growing. He looked so much older now. So much…happier. Happier without him. His stomach rolled. 

He was still beautiful. Still so perfect in a sad way. 

“Then I have to kill you,” Ryan grunted. 

Andrew had jumped only slightly at the kiss of cold metal against his temple. He shut those perfect brown eyes and sighed, “Do you really think this will help anything, love?” 

“I love you,” Ryan didn’t have it in him to sound hateful, not to Andrew, “And this is how you repay me?” 

“I loved you,” He looks up at Ryan, “But I had to go. You need help. You don’t need me.” 

“How would you know what I do or don’t need,” His arm shakes, “This didn’t have to end this way.”

“It still doesn’t have to,” He whispered, “If you drop the gun.” 

“I love you,” He’d said again. Then he pulled the trigger. 

His voice. His laugh. The way the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled. His full body blush. 

It was all gone as soon as the bullet entered his brain. 

The memory caused fresh, hot tears to blind him. How did he have the audacity to mourn a loss he’d caused? 

He stopped the car in a clearing, where the guardrail stopped. It overlooked a jagged cliff face. There was nothing between this rock face and the next. Ryan wondered if anyone would find his body. 

Carefully, he took the cigar box from its place in the backseat. He stood at the precipice. 

It was in this way, he found salvation.


End file.
